Two Sides to the Same Story
by Major-Stardust
Summary: A retelling of TDK from Two-Face's point of view, dipping briefly into his disturbed past and chronicling his abrupt descent into madness. Not the best title, I know. Oh well. Please Review.


"You either die a hero, or live long enough to see yourself become the villain," I would often say with confidence.

It sounded impressive.

It certainly impressed Bruce and Rachel. I could see it in their faces.

It certainly impressed the voters. I could tell so by the polls.

D.A.

Me, Harvey Dent, D.A. of Gotham City.

"You're going to make something of your life, Harvey," my mother had said once. "You're going to be something that I can be proud of."

"Yeah right," my father had jeered, taking a sip from the ever-present bottle in his hand.

Maybe she would have been proud of me, if she hadn't hung herself when I was seventeen.

Maybe _he_ would have been proud, too, if he hadn't shot himself three weeks later.

The only thing he left me was his double-headed coin, the one he had mockingly flipped so many times.

"Let's flip my lucky coin. Tails you run along and play, heads I _knock your lights out_," he would growl drunkenly before flipping the coin that never landed on tails once in seventeen years.

As I held it in my hand at the funeral, I was possessed by a sudden urge to throw it as far away from myself as possible, severing all ties with my pain. But I didn't. It was my only connection to my parents, the only thing I had left.

Despite the coin's disturbing past, it ended up being of some use to me.

The first time she walked into my office, I _knew_ she was the one for me. Long, silky hair and a face that could launch a thousand ships- and then some.

"Harvey Dent? I'm Rachel Dawes," were the first words she spoke to me, shaking my hand.

At first it seemed our relationship was doomed to be professional only. She rejected all of my advances, whether playfully or not I couldn't tell. She wasn't easy for me to read like everyone else.

After three months I jokingly brought out my coin. "How about this: Tails, I _never _flirt with you again, Heads, I take you to that fancy Italian place down the street at seven P.M. Friday night?" She seemed amused that I would take such a risk, and for the first time since I had met her, she answered with "alright."

I had been in high spirits that day as I left work, but it was always hard to stay that way after the fifteen-minute drive through downtown Gotham it took to get to my apartment. Everywhere you looked were bums, gang members, drug dealers and prostitutes. Before sundown. Gotham needed a change. I mentally swore to myself that _I _would be that change.

A year later, campaigning for D.A., it seemed that I would indeed be that change. The White Knight, they called me.

Of course, I wasn't the only hero in town. I was the one everyone talked about. What was causing all the hype was the one they whispered about: Batman. He had become a crucial subject in every interview, every debate.

"Mr. Dent, what is your opinion of the Batman?"

"How do you feel about the Batman?"  
>"Do you agree with the Batman's methods of stopping crime?"<p>

Answers had to be carefully chosen and carefully worded.

"Well, let me start off with saying that while I think the Batman's mission is an honorable one, I hope to make it an unnecessary one…"

People ate it up. "They really believe in you, Harvey," a reporter had once told me during a televised interview.

_I Believe In Harvey Dent_ became my campaign slogan. At first I thought it was corny as Hell, but within a week's time it was impossible to go anywhere without seeing or hearing those words. They blared at me from posters in store windows, waved at me from flags at every rally.

It was really no surprise when the votes came in. I had received a mandate in the form of a landslide. The rest of the day was celebration, congratulations from people I had never met. Everything I ordered on my date with Rachel that night was "compliments of the house for the new D.A., senor Dent."

After a few days the celebration eclipsed into grim resolve. As D.A. of the city with the highest crime rate on the Eastern Seaboard, I had a lot of work to do. Meeting the Batman was high on my to-do list. The winds of change were blowing in Gotham. The Police, and Batman, were about to come crashing down on the mob like a wave on the shore. And I wanted in on that.

I figured the way to get to Batman was through Gordon, Batman's not-so-secret secret ally. When I met with him, though, he denied involvement. But I could tell they were moving in, and I planned on being involved, one way or another.

Gordon wanted me to back search warrants for five banks without even knowing who it was we were after. And I did it. It was crazy, but I did it.

That night I met Bruce Wayne for the first time. Gotham's billionaire playboy with a troubled past. The media always said one thing, Rachel always told me another.

And how she would talk about him. They had apparently been best friends since childhood. According to Rachel, they were "just friends, and nothing more", but I knew enough to know that the pang of jealousy I felt whenever she brought him up was justified.

My first impression of him was somewhere along the lines of "who-does-he-think-he-is-intruding-on-our-date-like-this", but at the night's end, I left with a heightened opinion of Bruce Wayne. Clearly he felt the same about me, and intended to show that with a fundraiser, even after I pointed out to him that I wouldn't be up for reelection for another three years.

Three _busy _years, if they were all going to be spent like the last few days. Gordon's men searched the banks, but the money had already been moved by Lau, who I hadn't even known was involved until it was too late. And I was livid. I _could _have taken his passport if Gordon had bothered to keep me informed.

Fortunately, our solution emerged from the shadows on the roof of MCU. Batman brought Lau back to us gift-wrapped. It only took a little skillful interrogating by Rachel to get him to talk. The mob had pooled their money. A RICO case. We were getting somewhere.

We brought the case, all five-hundred forty-nine defendants before Judge Surrillo. The mayor was skeptical at first, but the whole "eighteen months of clean streets" deal won us his reluctant blessing.

That was when the first dead body showed up.

It hit the mayor's window with a demonic clown smile carved into its face. At first we thought it was Batman, but then they found that horrible video.

"Batman must take off his mask and turn himself in. Every day he doesn't, people will die. Starting tonight. I'm a man of my word."

There was panic. Everyone was terrified. One man in _clown make up_ had scared them into a frenzy.

But I didn't have time to panic.

I had a fundraiser to get ready for.

Butterflies were flitting around in my stomach as I got of the elevator that night. It didn't make sense; I had been _shot at_ in court without so much as flinching, yet here I was, nervous that I wouldn't impress whatever rich socialites Wayne invited to his little party. Was it _really _such a big deal? Wayne certainly thought so, arriving in a helicopter and making a little speech to remind everyone to break out their checkbooks.

After his speech I pulled Rachel aside. I had been doing some serious thinking lately. I had come to a decision. I wanted to spend the rest of my life with Rachel, and I intended to propose to her at the first chance I got. That night was the first chance I got.

I approached the subject carefully. We had never even discussed marriage, so I had no idea what her opinion was. But I had a horrible suspicion in the back of my mind that I already knew what her answer would be.

When she told me she didn't have an answer, my heart sank. But to say I hadn't been expecting that would be a lie. I saw the way she looked at Wayne while he was making his little speech.

"I guess no answer is a 'no'," I said, struggling to keep my composure. "It's somebody else, isn't it? Just tell me it's not Wayne," I needed to be reassured. "The guy's a complete-"

Waking up on the floor of a broom closet with distressed party guests staring curiously through the doorway and no memory of how you got there is definitely an odd experience. It certainly drove all thoughts of my last conversation out of my mind, so when Rachel approached me and said gently "come on Harvey, let's get out of here," There was nothing but gratitude in my mind.

The next morning I got news of what had happened the previous night. Judge Surrillo and Commissioner Loeb were both dead, and I likely would have been too if Bruce Wayne hadn't knocked me out and hid me from the Joker. That didn't change my most recently developed opinion of him. Later that day I was told two people whose surnames combined to spell "Harvey Dent" had been killed. The Joker wasn't giving up on me. Luckily I would be spending the afternoon at the Memorial Parade for Commissioner Loeb. Security would be tight there. I thought that the Joker wasn't likely to make a move there.

I thought wrong.

The Joker and his men were there the whole time, disguised as the honor guard. At the end of the mayor's speech, they turned their guns on him. He and Gordon both went down. Pandemonium erupted. Only one of the Joker's men was caught. The rest escaped in the chaos. I was_ sick_ of this guy. He just showed up out of nowhere a few days ago, and already four people dead. He was using the terror he caused to get what he wanted, just like my father had done any time my mother tried to leave him. In the chaos no one noticed me slipping away, and no one paid any attention to an ambulance speeding away from the scene of a shooting.

Looking back, I realize I shouldn't have done it. But when I went to question the injured thug about the Joker, I saw that his nametag said Officer Rachel Dawes. They were targeting her. I couldn't let that happen. I couldn't bear to lose her. I called her, warned her of the situation. She wanted to go to Wayne's penthouse. I reluctantly agreed, because she was convinced she would be safe there. I tried to convince myself the same thing.

But the only thing that would really convince me she was safe was the Joker behind bars. The police had unfortunately proven they weren't going to accomplish that. So I took matter into my own hands by questioning the Joker's thug. He wasn't going to talk, so I decided to give him more of an incentive to.

I pulled out my father's old coin. "Heads, you get to keep your head, Tails, not so lucky," I told him. He didn't know it was double-headed, but he still wasn't talking. He didn't believe I would go through with it. When I actually flipped it, he was shaking with terror. It landed on heads, like I knew it would.

"Let's go again," I said, flipping again.

"I don't know _anything_!" He sobbed.

But the coin didn't land. Batman had arrived. He didn't approve of me leaving a man's life to "chance". I told him I had to do something. Joker was going to _kill Rachel._ He reprimanded me, telling me that if this ever got out, all that I had done for Gotham would be reversed, everyone I put away back on the streets. Before he left he told me to call a press conference the next morning. He was going to turn himself in. I couldn't let him do that. Gotham _needed_ him.

That night I didn't get any sleep. After calling Rachel about the press conference I had sat myself down at my desk and thought. Batman turning himself in wasn't going to stop the Joker. Joker would kill Batman as soon as he revealed himself, and Gotham would be left defenseless. But if the Joker was _distracted_, Batman might be able to capture him. But the only thing that could distract the Joker the next morning would be hunting down Batman once he was in police custody.

I knew what needed to be done. The only question was could I do it? It would be dangerous. It was a huge risk. So many things could go wrong. Batman might not be able to reach Joker in time. It might mean the end of me.

But no one ever said making the right choice was easy.

The next morning I felt oddly calm despite my decision. I addressed the crowd. A sea of angry, bitter faces. I told them the Batman was going to turn himself in.

"So where is he?" someone yelled angrily.

They were all ready to give in to the demands of a terrorist. Their fear was controlling their minds. All they could think about was how bad the situation was at the moment. About how things were worse than ever. I tried one last desperate attempt to change their minds. "The night is darkest just before the dawn. And I promise you, the dawn _is coming._ One day, the Batman will have to answer for the laws he's broken. But to us, not to this madman." It seemed to be working. The crowd seemed moved. Then-

"No more dead cops!"

I had lost them. I turned to the officers. "Take the Batman into custody," they nodded.

"I am the Batman."

Four words, short and simple. The whole room went quiet. The anger and passion on each face had given way to shock, betrayal. I watched everyone's stunned faces as I was lead to the door in handcuffs. I went through the crowd with my head held high, making sure to meet everyone's eyes as I passed. "I never would'a guessed," the cop who drove me away mumbled, more to himself than me.

Two days ago the last place I would have thought I would be was a cell in MCU. But that was exactly where I found myself spending the rest of the day. Occasionally someone would pass by the cell, just to get a good look at the face of 'Batman', the face no one ever expected to see on this side of the bars.

"Hey Batman!" I looked up to find a burly cop with a 5 o' clock shadow standing outside my cell. "We're movin' youse to Central Holdin' tonight," he said, then walked away. That would be the Joker's chance, when he would strike. I just hoped I would get a chance to say goodbye to Rachel, incase something went wrong.

Luckily I did get a chance. Rachel came to see me just as I was being moved. Like I expected, she was upset that I hadn't talked this through with her, and she didn't want me to use myself as bait. She, like Batman had, brought up all the people counting on me to clean up Gotham. She wanted me to "Tell everyone the truth-"

I kissed her, knowing this might be our last kiss.

"Heads I go through with it."

"This is your _life_. You don't leave something like this to chance."

I tossed her my coin. "I'm not."

The door of the armored car closed on me just as she turned the coin over.

The ride in the windowless SWAT truck was a nightmare of twists and turns, bumps and lurches. I did my best to stay calm throughout the entire thing, even when the walls became peppered with bullet indentations. I couldn't see anything, but I could hear plenty of screeching tires, firing guns, and even explosions. The SWATs flinched at every sound. Good to know I was being protected by such brave people.

The tuck stopped without warning, and everything was quiet. The door swung open, and for a second I was sure that I would find the Joker, grinning demonically, with a gun pointed at my head. What I saw instead was Jim Gordon, back from the dead. I couldn't help grinning. "Lieutenant, you do like to play it pretty close to the chest."

"We got him, Harvey."

Thank God. They got the Joker. Rachel, and all of Gotham, would be safe for now.

As always whenever anything happens in Gotham, it didn't take the reporters long to reach the scene. They all clamored for an interview with me as I was helped out of the truck by the SWATs. I didn't really want to talk, I really just wanted them to leave me alone.

"Let him be! He's been through enough!" I looked up in surprise. Detective Ramirez, one of the last people I would have expected help from, was pushing her way through the crowd towards me. She led me to a squad car with Wuertz in the driver's seat.

"Thanks, detective. I've got a date with a pretty upset fiancé." I said as I got into the back seat.

"I figured, counselor." She replied, shutting the door just before Wuertz drove off.

As we drove along I was so deep in thought that I almost didn't notice the direction we were taking.

"Detective? Where are we going? This isn't the way to my apartment." I said.

He was silent for a moment, as if reluctant, before turning around, holding a stun gun. "I know."

Waking up in a broom closet was an odd experience. Waking up tied to a chair in dingy, unfurnished room with a throbbing headache is an experience that I _never_ want to repeat. As I squinted my eyes, trying to strain to see in the dim light, a familiar voice called out "Can anyone hear me?"

No. Please don't let that be who I think it is, I though desperately.

"Rachel? Rachel, is that you?"

"Harvey! You're okay! I thought…"

No, no_, no_. They got her too.

Her voice was coming from a speakerphone on the floor.

"It's okay Rachel." I told her, though I knew this was far from the truth. "Everything's going to be just fine."

I looked around, searching for something, _anything_, to use as a means of escape. What I saw instead were dozens of metal barrels, some hooked to a car battery, with a timer counting down: five minutes.

_Shit._

"Where are you, Rachel?" I called out, trying to sound calmer than I felt.

"In a warehouse full of barrels. With… with a bomb," she replied.

_Fuck. _

"Can you move your chair?" I asked.

"No. Harvey, we don't have much time-"

She was right. The timer now read 2:47. I started scooting my chair, inching closer to the timer. If I could just reach it-

"Look for something to free yourself," I told Rachel. My chair had jammed against a ridge on the floor. I strained to reach the timer, but it was still a few inches too far.

"They said only one of us was going to make it. That they'd let our friends choose.."

No. This can't be happening, I thought, blinking back tears. If that was true, they would almost certainly choose _me_, but I didn't want them to. I strained a little harder to reach the timer, and-

_Crash! _The chair toppled over, taking a barrel along with it, leaving me lying on my left side with the upset barrel spewing diesel fuel at me.

"Harvey, what's happening?" Rachel cried.

"Nothing. I'm trying to-" fuel filled my mouth and I sputtered, contorting my head to prevent any more from getting in. I was almost halfway submerged in the fuel.

"Harvey, in case… I want you to know something…"

"Don't think like that Rachel, they're coming for you," I reassured, knowing in my mind that it wasn't true.

"I know, but I don't want them to…" Only ten seconds were left on the timer. "I don't want to live without you. Because I _do_ have an answer, and my answer is _yes_.."

Yes. Her answer was yes. I felt tears rise in my eyes. I choked back a sob.

Suddenly the door burst open. I looked up in horror. Batman stood in the doorway.

"No! NOT ME! WHY DID YOU COME FOR _ME_?" I cried, practically sobbing. Batman ran over and started trying to drag me out. I fought against him. I knew it wouldn't do any good to struggle, but I was hysterical, I was distraught.

"Rachel!" I called out.

"Harvey? Harvey it's okay..."

"RACHEL!"

Batman gave up trying to drag me to my feet and simply picked me up and ran, just as time ran out. We rushed through the doorway just as the timer reached zero. Behind us was an all consuming explosion, the force of it propelling us forward as Batman leapt through the door, landing deftly on the sidewalk. He straightened up, thinking everything was clear, just as another, closer explosion went off, hurtling fireballs towards us.

_No,_ I thought weakly.

A spark landed on my shoulder. The fuel on my jacket ignited, and the blaze spread instantly.

Pain, excruciating pain. Death would have been a welcome relief, a wonderful alternative to this throbbing agony. And I would be able to see Rachel.

Rachel.

I came to in a hospital bed with half my face wrapped in bandages. The pain was still there, though whether it had gotten worse or better I couldn't tell.

_You deserve this pain,_ a little voice that was both mine and not mine hissed. _You are partially responsible for Rachel's death._

…partially responsible for Rachel's death.

…partially responsible for Rachel's death.

…responsible…

…Rachel's death.

…Rachel.

"Ah, Mr. Dent you're awake." A doctor came into my room, started talking about pain medications.

_Don't accept._

"No," I said. Short, simple.

"Now really, Mr. Dent," the doctor started, moving towards me with a needle full of pain killers.

I reached out with my left hand and aggressively knocked it out of his hand and onto the floor.

"I can see you are… confused. I'll give you some time alone to… rethink." He clearly thought I would give in to the pain and be screaming out for medication within minutes.

_Not gonna happen._

He had said I was confused.

Was I confused?

_ No._

Maybe. I had hit my head pretty hard on the pavement.

I noticed my coin lying on the bedside table. It was strangely comforting to know that I still had that coin, the thing that was responsible for so much of my misery, even though I had nothing else.

_You have nothing else left. Nothing!_

It was true. I had nothing but the coin. I reached out to pick it up. As I turned it over in my hands, I noticed that one side of it had been burnt beyond recognition-

_just like your face._

My face. What would I find when they unwrapped the bandages? I felt panic creep over me, my heart rate accelerated to a pounding speed-

It doesn't matter, I told myself. Whatever it is, I'll just live with it. No plastic surgery. After all, who cares?

_Not me._

I called the doctor back in, not to request pain medications, but to demand he remove he bandages.

"Now, uh, remember Mr. Dent," the doctor told me ask he reluctantly unwound the gauze taped around my head. "All of the damage can be fix- good lord!"

He had reached the end of the bandages.

"Give me a mirror."

"M-m-maybe you should…"

"_I said gimme a mirror, doc."_

With a shaking hand he silently passed me a mirror.

My heart started pounding in my throat. I wasn't so sure I wanted to see anymore…

_Do it._

My hand trembling worse than the doctor's had been, I brought the mirror up to eye level.

I immediately regretted the no-plastic-surgery decision. I swallowed back the bile that surfaced in my throat. I had never had the stomach for grotesque horror movies, and I had always hated case files with graphic pictures of horrific murders, but now…

_You might as well get used to it._

I blinked back my now-singular eyelid against the tears that were forming in only my right eye. It would be selfish to cry about my face after what happened to Rachel. In fact-

_You practically deserve this._

"A-as I was saying," the doctor began, trying to adopt a professional manner, "all of the damage can be fixed with plastic sur-"

"No! No surgery!"

The doctor looked taken aback. "Well you've got to at least accept skin grafts-"

"No!"

"N-now see here! What's the point of keeping it like this?"

_"What's the point in covering it up?" _I shouted, flinging the mirror across the room forcefully.

"Really, Mr. Dent, really!" The doctor looked shocked at my behavior.

"_Yes really_!" I snarled, then broke down into violent sobs. Sobs of anger, sobs of pain, of guilt, of regret.

The doctor shook his head in an almost weary sort of way and called in two orderlies to have me restrained.

The next few hours were torture. Lying there, restrained, I had nothing to do but think.

And there was nothing I wanted to do less right now than think.

Since the mirror was lying shattered into a million pieces in the corner, I took to staring at my reflection in the blank T.V. screen. Staring at the Two uneven halves of my Face.

_Hmm…_

What now? I wondered.

_Alcohol abuse, drug addiction, suicide attempts-_

"Shut up!" I growled.

"A-are you talking to me?" asked a terrified looking nurse standing in the doorway with a tray of food.

"No, I was talking to…"

Myself.

Gordon came to visit me later that day. He gave me words of comfort, but I didn't want his false sympathy. He had _no_ idea what I was feeling. How could he? He'd never experienced anything like what I had just been through. Never. He didn't understand.

_Make him understand._

All he really wanted was to question me about who in his department had been involved in the Joker's plans. He didn't _really_ care that I had just lost everything. I didn't see any reason to tell him what he wanted to know. If he hadn't listened to me before, why should he now?

If he had _just_ listened to me, none of this would have happened.

_Rachel would still be alive._

But he hadn't, and she wasn't. And for that,

_We'll make him pay._

…We?

After Gordon left- _good riddance_- there was a commotion in the hallway. Doctors, nurses, cops, all scrambling around frantically, moving patients. Evacuating. I caught snatches of panicked conversation from the hallway.

"The bomb..."

"Bomb!"

"yes, a _bomb_."

_Fucking great._

A nurse came into my room. I assumed she had come to get me out, too.

Until Polk came frantically tearing into my room, and she turned and shot him down.

Then she-no, he- advanced on me, removing his mask, revealing nightmarish greasepaint smeared across a scarred face.

"Hi."

I strained at my bonds with every ounce of my strength. This…this…_this twisted son of a bitch_ had the nerve to address me after _fucking murdering_ Rachel?

I wanted to kill him with my bare hands, _wrap my fingers around his neck and crush his throat with my bare hands as he gasped for breath and begged for mercy._ He must have known what I wanted. He must have seen it in my eyes.

But he untied me.

It was enough to make me hesitate, make me question my murderous thoughts long enough to hear the little speech that he had no doubt rehearsed.

Plans and schemers and dogs chasing cars.

The he handed me a gun, and I understood. The Joker was fucking insane. Completely unhinged, brimming with madness that went far beyond the point of 'not legally responsible for his actions'. And for a moment, I seriously doubted that I could take his life.

_You can._

But could I? Was I really fit to make such a decision? Was it really my place? I turned my coin over in my hand, finding comfort in its familiar weight. The Joker was rambling about chaos, about the infinite fairness of a force that no one had control over. And I understood. He was right. The fucking _Joker_ had the right idea. _I_ couldn't decide whether or not to kill him. My judgment was clouded by rage and personal bias.

_But chance, chance is fair. Chance could be used to make the decision, take the responsibility off of your shoulders. There can be no wrong decisions with chance. And we've even got the perfect decision making tool right here._

The coin.

I held it up to the Joker. Explained it to him.

"You live. You die."

"_Now_ you're talking," he said, casting me an admiring look.

_Sick fuck. He's actually enjoying this. I bet he'd love to have his brains blown out all over the hospital floor._

But it didn't come to that. The coin landed clean side up, pristine and shining in my palm.

The Joker laughed his head off and told me to get dressed and high-tail it out of the hospital before the explosions went off.

So I did.

Standing on the sidewalk in a half-charred suit with Gotham General in flames behind me, I was faced with momentary indecision. Do I go to Police headquarters? My office?

_It's too late for that. They won't accept us any more. I say we track down everyone who was involved in Rachel's death._

_Then we kill them._

I tracked down Wuertz first, only because I knew where to find the little shit. Getting shitfaced in some dive when he should be out helping to protect the city.

He was visibly shocked to see me. He had thought I was dead.

_He was half right._

I wanted answers from him. Wanted to know who had picked up Rachel, who I should target next.

He either didn't know, or due to some warped sense of morality wanted to protect the other filthy traitor, because he wasn't talking. So I cut right to the chase.

The drunk passed out at the bar didn't even wake at the sound of the gunshot.

I went after Maroni next, waiting in his limo.

When he climbed in, he was clearly on edge. He commanded the driver not to stop for "lights, cops, nothing."

_Good. We can attend to business with no unnecessary stops._

He recovered from his shock much more quickly than the late Detective Wuertz had. Immediately tried to blame the Joker for what had happened.

"Take it up with the Joker. He killed your woman."-there was no hint of sympathy in his voice-"Made you…like this" I could hear his repulsion as he looked the devastated half of my face over.

He wanted to strike a deal, the information I wanted in exchange for his miserable life.

"If I tell you, will you let me go?"

_He obviously doesn't understand how it works._

I answered honestly. "It can't hurt your chances."

"It was Ramirez."

I knew it.

_That bitch. That fucking cunt. Didn't you tell Gordon not to trust her?_

I had what I wanted from Maroni, so I gave him a fair chance to live, just as I had done for Wuertz. It was his lucky day.

His driver, not so much.

He realized what I was going to do the second I pulled the trigger. He lunged forward, as if to jerk his driver out of the path of my bullet.

_Too late._

I've read somewhere that adrenaline increases the body's ability to survive what ought to be fatal. Maybe that was why I was able to climb out of the pancaked limo- bruised, but alive- and go on my way to find Ramirez.

I tracked her down easy enough. MCU. I could have flipped for her life then and there, but I had other ideas. I was going to make Gordon experience the same loss as I had. I lost my family, he would lose his.

_It was only fair._

Barbara Gordon trusted Anna Ramirez. If she heard from her that the cops Gordon had stationed around their house couldn't be trusted, and that Gordon wanted her to get out of there with the kids as soon as possible and meet him at 250, 52nd Street, she'd believe her.

And she did.

_Her mistake._

When Ramirez hung up the phone, she was practically in tears. She tried to excuse what she had done. Just like Wuertz, she pleaded that she hadn't known what they were going to do.

_She turned Rachel over to the Joker's men. What the hell did she think they would do?_

There was desperation in her voice as she tried to explain why she had done it. I didn't want to hear it.

I just wanted to kill her.

But the coin said I ought to extend the mercy that she didn't deserve and spare her.

I left her there and made my way to the blackened remains of the site Rachel had died. Like expected, Gordon's family was there waiting. They looked scared, confused, panicked, as if wondering why Gordon would tell them to meet him at such a place. Then I stepped out of the shadows, my gun cocked and pointed at them.

I got the expected reaction. Barbara screaming hysterically and trying to shield her children. The kids crying, either from the fear brought on by having a gun trained on them or from the sight of my face.

"You want to live, do as I say. Hand me your phone."

She handed it over, still sobbing quietly.

Gordon picked up on the first ring.

_Good. Means his wife is important to him._

"Hello?"-at the sound of her husband's voice Barbara started back up the hysterics.- "Barbara, calm down-"

"Hello, Jim."

"_Harvey?_ What the hell's going on?"

He sounded shocked. I wondered if he knew what I had been getting up to.

"Where are you? Where's my family?"

_He knew._

"Where my family died."

I hung up. He knew where to look. After all, he had been here before.

_Maybe this time he'd arrive in time._

He didn't disappoint.

I heard him drive up. Heard him enter the building, heard him climb the stairs.

He burst through the door with his gun drawn.

It was easy enough to crack him over the head with my gun and disarm him.

"This is where they brought her, Gordon. After your people handed her over. This is where they bound her. This is where she suffered. This is where she died."

"I know. I was here. Trying to _save_ her."

_Trying wasn't enough. He let her die! If he had only listened to you instead of turning a blind eye to the deep-rooted corruption present throughout his department, none of this would have happened. _

He tried to justify his actions. Just like Wuertz had. Just like Ramirez had.

It made me livid.

He was going to experience what I had. Going to have to reassure the person that meant the most to him, tell them that everything would be alright when he _knew_ it wouldn't.

I pointed my gun at his wife.

"Put the gun down," he pleaded.

_Not a strong enough reaction._

Pointed it at his little girl.

"Please, Harvey."

_The desperation's definitely there, just not quite what we're looking for._

Pointed it at his son.

"_Godammit,_ stop pointing that gun at my family, Dent!"

_We have a winner._

"NO!" Barbara shrieked. "Jim, stop him! Don't let him!"

"I'm sorry, Harvey. For everything. But please. Please don't hurt him," Gordon begged desperately.

_Too late for that. He'll be sorry in a minute, then he can-_

Sirens.

Gordon had brought the fucking police.

They were creating a perimeter, as if I was going to try to escape. I didn't give a _damn_ about whether or not I got away. There _was_ no escape. Here, jail, Arkham, wherever the cops saw fit to put me, it didn't matter.

_Rachel would still be dead_.

The thought renewed my anger and I squeezed my gun a little tighter against the boy's neck.

"You don't want to hurt the boy, Dent."

_Batman._

The Batman stepped forward from where he had been concealing himself in the shadows.

_Does he really think he can just talk us out of this?_

But he was right. I didn't really _want_ to hurt the boy.

_But that's not the point._

"It's not about what I want. It's about what's _fair._ You thought you could be decent men in an indecent world. You thought you could lead by example. You thought the rules could be bent but not break. _You were wrong._ The world is cruel."

I held up my coin.

"And the only morality in a cruel world is chance. Unbiased. Unprejudiced. Fair."

Batman still thought he could talk me out of it. Tried to convince me that Rachel wasn't dead because of chance, but as a result of our actions. Gordon, Batman and I.

_But it wasn't Batman or Gordon who lost everything. It was you._

"You're the one pointing the gun, Harvey. So point it at the people who were responsible. We all acted as one. Gordon. Me. And you."

_Fair enough._

I flipped for Batman's life first. The coin landed scarred side up. I fired on my former ally without so much as a second thought. He went down, clutching his gut.

It was my turn.

The coin came up clean.

So I wouldn't pay the price for what I had done.

At least, not today.

_Oh well. Hell will wait._

"Your turn, Gordon."

"You were right, Harvey. Rachel's death was my fault. But punish _me_-"

"I'm about to. Tell your son it's going to be all right, Gordon. _Lie_. Like I lied." I still wanted him to know how it felt, even if he would be for only a moment before he went off to his eternal reward.

"It's going to be all right, son," Gordon said, sounding pained.

_Good._

I flipped my coin, following the arch it made as it cut through the air.

Before it had a chance to land, Batman jumped up from his position on the ground and hurled himself at me, sending me toppling over the edge of the gaping hole in the floor.

_Huh, bulletproof armor,_ was all I could manage to think before hitting the ground with a sudden shock.

The edges of my vision went black, my eyesight slowly fading until there was nothing but darkness left.

And from that darkness, came a voice, one I recognized instantly as Rachel's, brimming with emotion.

"Harvey." Rachel pleaded. "What have you done?"

.


End file.
